


A Local Problem

by Sholio



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016), The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 11:56:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14568513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sholio/pseuds/Sholio
Summary: Steve Harrington goes into a bar and meets... Harry Dresden! Does what it says on the tin.





	A Local Problem

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the [Into A Bar](https://intoabar.dreamwidth.org/) challenge on DW. You pick a character from one fandom (I chose Steve Harrington) and give the mods a list of other fandoms you can write, and they pick a character to match them with. And the characters meet in a bar. As you do.
> 
> This is set sometime in the first decade of the 2000s, before "Changes" in Dresden Files chronology.

I was lingering over one of Mac's ales at the bar and reading a 16th-century text on discredited types of summoning circles (exactly as riveting as you would expect) when the door opened, letting shafts of afternoon sunlight into McAnally's, and the stranger walked in.

I glanced up and laid a cautious hand on my staff where it leaned on the bar next to me. I'd never seen him before, but he didn't look like trouble or give off any magical sense that I recognized; I didn't think he was a vampire, a member of the Faery courts, or a wizard. Maybe he was an ordinary guy who'd just wandered in off the street for an after-work drink. 

Mac tended to discourage that kind of thing, though.

I kept a finger in the book to mark my place and watched the new guy stumble as he discovered the steps down to the bar's floor -- he must be half blinded by the contrast between the sunlight on the street and the dark interior of Mac's, which was another clue that he wasn't some kind of supernatural creature, at least not a particularly competent one. He windmilled his arms, nearly took a tumble, and caught himself on one of the carved pillars supporting the low ceiling, then jerked away with a startled yelp as he noticed the carvings.

By now I was just watching for the entertainment value. So were the only other regulars in the bar, a couple of werewolves at a table in the corner and a hedge witch called Stina who had been sorting herbs.

The newcomer jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans jacket and sauntered over to the bar in a way that was clearly meant to be casual. His hair, going gray at the temples, was too long to be fashionable these days, but he looked like he was about the age that it would've been when he was younger. He looked somewhere around my true age, maybe a few years older, though I of course looked younger than I was, because wizard. (Hey, there have to be _some_ perks.)

I still couldn't figure out whether he'd come in here on purpose or just wandered in looking for a drink. I watched as he tried to get Mac's attention, first clearing his throat, then tapping on the bar, finally resorting to "Hey, could I get a beer? Whatever you've got on tap."

Mac turned around slowly from polishing a glass. After a long moment, he got a bottle from under the bar, popped off the cap, and set the bottle and a glass in front of Rock'n'Roll Weekend there. "Eight," he grunted. "Cash."

"Eight bucks for a bottle of beer?" the new guy said in disbelief.

I finally spoke up. "Hey, Mac. Just put it on my tab."

Mac shrugged and turned back to his vital bartender glass-polishing duties.

"Uh ... thanks," the new guy said. He picked up the beer, then I saw a look of dismay cross his face. I guessed that he'd discovered Mac didn't keep his ale on ice. "They really don't like customers here, do they?" he asked quietly; Mac had gone into the back.

"That's how you're supposed to drink it. Give it a try."

The new guy shook his head and poured the beer, frothing, into his glass. He took a cautious sip.

"Good?" I said.

"All right, I guess. I prefer Miller."

I gave an exaggerated shudder. "I take back my offer to buy your drink."

He looked startled and slightly worried.

"Joking." I held out a hand. "Welcome to McAnally's."

After a surprised moment, he slipped down off his stool to come over and shake. "I'm Steve."

It's not normally a good idea to shake hands with anything that might be, you know, not exactly normal -- but there are also few better ways to get a read on what, exactly, I'm dealing with. Steve had a firm handshake, and I saw him studying my rings curiously as he let go. However, there was no spark or sense of anything amiss. And he'd crossed through Mac's doorway, with its wards and weak threshold, without needing an invitation or showing any signs of discomfort.

Which left two possibilities: either he was exactly as human as he looked, or he was hellishly powerful, whatever he was.

Considering that my life is the gift that keeps giving, I decided to assume that it was the latter option while continuing to pretend he was some rube who'd just wandered in off the street.

"You should try the burger while you're here," I told him, not giving him my name on general dealing-with-the-potential-supernatural principles. "Might not guess it, but this place has the best pub food you're going to find in this town."

"Uh ... maybe later." Steve slid onto a stool next to mine. He tapped his finger restlessly on the side of his glass and took another drink.

I gave up on getting the rest of my homework done, and closed the book. Whoever he was, _whatever_ he was, I didn't think it was a good idea to just ignore him and go back to what I was doing.

"Meeting someone?" I asked, aiming to keep my voice light.

"Uh ... more like looking for someone." He drummed his fingers on the bar -- he was a fidgety guy, never entirely still -- and then, with a sudden, decisive movement, reached into his pocket and took out a card.

I recognized it immediately. I ought to. It was one of mine.

"Dresden, huh?" I said. "What'd that jerk do this time? He owe you money?"

Steve smiled. It was a quick, friendly smile, the sort of smile that made you want to trust it, which of course made me decide not to. "No, he's just a ... friend of a friend, I guess. My friend told me I might be able to find him here. She said it was possible he could help us with a, uh. A problem. That we're having."

His entire air of schoolboy awkwardness made it sound like he was looking for help with some sort of embarrassing social disease. Of course, that's the usual attitude most people have when they're trying to talk about the supernatural and aren't used to it. Which can lead to, let's say, unfortunate misunderstandings.

(You might think I'm being hypothetical. Turns out there's a gynecologist over in Milwaukee who's named Harry Dryden, apparently. I get his customers sometimes. I can only assume he occasionally gets mine, which has to be fun for everyone.)

In the interests of preventing that sort of misunderstanding, I asked, "What's the name of your friend?"

Steve gave me a quick glance. "Jane Wheeler."

Oh. My eyebrows went up. Well, that certainly changed things. "How do you know her?"

"Do you know Dresden?" Steve countered.

"I can get a message to him," I hedged.

"Yeah, well ..." Steve took a quick swallow of his warm ale. "Jane was ... a friend from school, I guess you could say. I mean, she was younger than I was, but her boyfriend was best friends with my -- Okay, look, the point is, we kinda grew up together."

"You're from Hawkins," I said, pieces falling into place. "In Indiana."

"Yeah." Now he was looking at me full on. "Are you from near there? Nobody's heard of Hawkins who doesn't come from the county."

"I have." Hawkins had a reputation in the Chicagoland magical community.

Steve was still frowning at me. "Wait, you knew I was from Hawkins just from me mentioning El -- I mean, Jane. You _do_ know her!"

"I do," I admitted. "And you said you're looking for Dresden?"

"Yeah."

"You're talking to him."

Steve flinched back, like a whole-body flinch. It was amazing. I'm not sure if I'd ever seen anyone do that before. "You're a _wizard?"_

"We look just like everybody else," I said, deadpan.

He looked down at my duster, across my rings and staff, and finally back to my face.

"Okay," I said, annoyed, "not quite like _everybody_ else. But the pointy hats and robes went out of style in the '70s."

He gave me a suspicious look.

"Joke," I said. "I still keep my pointy hat in the closet. We all do."

Further suspicious staring.

"Look, you came in here looking for a wizard. You found one. And you know Jane Wheeler, _and_ you're from Hawkins, so clearly I don't have to start at Magic Is Real 101. Blink once for yes, twice for no."

"Wow," Steve said, "you are really --"

"Magnificent. I know. You should see me in the pointy hat. What's the nature of your problem?"

"... Right." Steve cleared his throat. "Okay, so first of all, I don't live there anymore, but from what I could tell over the phone, Hawkins, as in the entire town, kind of ... you know, this is going to sound crazy."

"Fell into a crack in reality?" I suggested. "Got taken over by vampires? Faeries? Currently has dinosaurs rampaging around the streets?"

"Uh ... the faeries one." Steve looked like he couldn't believe the words that were coming out of his mouth.

"Shit," I said. "Faeries are such a pain in the ass, you have no idea. Like cockroaches on meth, with magic."

Steve boggled. "This has happened before?"

I sighed and got up, collecting my staff and book. "Come on. I need to go collect some supplies. And then we'll go have a chat with my fairy godmother."

"That's a figure of speech, right?" Steve asked, leaving his half-drunk ale on the counter -- an absolute crime against humanity, for the record -- and falling hastily into step with me.

"I wish."


End file.
